Sleight of Mind
by Lothithil
Summary: MacGyver must question his belief in the supernatural when a laboratory experiment goes bad and leaves him with unusual abilities.
1. Chapter 1 No Rest for the Weary

**Slight of Mind, Chapter 1**  
**No Rest for the Weary**

**  
Mac's Voice-over:**  
_I have never been so tired in my whole life. _

_The flight back from the Hawaiian Islands was long and turbulent and nobody on board got a wink of sleep. I'd've preferred to go straight home and at least take a shower and change clothes, maybe get a bite of something to eat--it is my personal belief that airplane food should never under any circumstances be consumed by humans-- but Pete had said that he needed to see me as soon as I got back to the Mainland. So I obediently hired a cab to take me straight to the Phoenix Foundation._

_It was a wasted trip; Pete wasn't there. Helen found me banging my forehead against the doors of Pete's office and told me that he was at the Western Research and Development Facility. Of course she added that he had said that he wanted me to join him there right away._

_The really frustrating thing was that I had nothing **to** report! I hadn't found the people I'd been sent to find. I hadn't found anything... except a pair of blood-shot eyes and a stiff back from sitting in a Coach Class seat with my knees pressed up against the back of the seat in front of me. Next time I'm going to insist on Business Class at the very least... First Class if I'm in a bad mood! _

_However… Pete was the boss…and I knew that the situation was rather important… so off I went to Western R&D. _

_But not without a bit of trepidation. Even as tired as I was, I couldn't help but think about the last few times I'd visited that facility. One time, a vial of Anthrax culture had been stolen by a friend of mine, and before that the entire underground laboratory had been destroyed by an explosion to prevent a deadly virus from spreading. Not what you'd call a good track record, if you know what I mean._

_I tried to sleep in the back of the taxi but the road was too bumpy. By the time we got to the lab, I was too exhausted and discouraged to care much about anything._

_And to add insult to injury, this last taxi ride took all of my remaining cash. This was the end of the road for me; if Pete wasn't here, I would have to hitchhike home!_

Mac sighed as the door slid aside with a swish. He had swiped his pass card through backward three times before he thought to turn it over so that the magnetic strip was on the correct side. He stumbled into the airlock and wait while the outer doors closed and the air was circulated and purified. Once the procedure was complete, the red light on the door went out and a green light below it lit up. The inner door opened automatically. Mac stepped through and looked around as the door slid shut behind him.

There was no one in the corridor other than the guard. He was sitting at a desk on one side of the entrance. Mac handed him the pass and waited while the man studied it carefully and consulted a clipboard.

"Yes, Mr. MacGyver. Mr. Thornton has you on the access list. Just go on ahead."

"To w-w-w-where?" Mac asked through a yawn. "'Scuse me."

"Sir?"

"Sorry… it's been about forty-eight since the last time I got any decent sleep. Where do I go to find Pete... er, Mr. Thornton?"

"Oh! Sorry, sir... um, Mr. Thornton is in the research lab on level three. Take the elevator down and follow the corridor. The door will be clearly marked."

"Thanks." Mac turned away toward the elevators that led down to the laboratories.

"Sir?" Mac turned back at the sound of the guard's voice. "You look a little tired, sir... would you like a cup of coffee or something?"

Mac smiled wearily. "Have you got a pillow and a blanket under your desk?"

The guard laughed. "No sir! Just a teddy bear."

"Then I'll take a cup of coffee... thanks. I need something to keep me awake."

⌂

Pete looked up from the stack of papers he was examining as the door opened. "Mac! Where've you been? I expected you hours ago."

"I'd have been here sooner," Mac said dryly, "if you'd told me where you were going to be. I went to your office. Helen told me where to find you."

"Oh... sorry, Mac," Pete said absently, "I thought that I'd told you I'd be here all this week." Pete leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I'm here doing budget reviews for the Board." He glanced toward the observation window between the office and the laboratory. Inside, Mac could see two people moving about, working on opposite sides of the lab. "I haven't told them yet," Pete continued, "and I don't look forward to breaking the bad news to them."

"Bad news?" Mac said, stifling another yawn; the coffee was wearing off quickly.

"I'm afraid so. Their research has not been very conclusive. There's just not enough money to spend on projects that don't produce at least a minimum of results."

Mac picked up one file and leafed through it. "It appears to be based on sound scientific principals... as far as I can say. What is the purpose of the research?" He squinted and blinked at the equations that covered the pages; it was getting hard to keep his eyes focused.

"'To discover a way to bring out the potential that lies dormant within the unused portions of the human brain'," Pete read from the top of one page.

Mac rubbed his eyes wearily. "Huh? Come on, Pete... have mercy! Do you know how long I've been awake?"

"Extra sensory perception, Mac... you know, ESP. The paranormal."

Mac dropped his hand and stared at Pete in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? How did the Phoenix Foundation get mixed up in cultivating research on parlor tricks?"

"Parlor tricks? Mac... have you forgotten about that Russian mentalist you met... that Starkoss fellow? Didn't he find that missing aircraft… the GX-1? And he knew things about your mother that you've never--"

"Yes, yes..." Mac cut his friend off, "I remember... but just because I didn't understand how he knew doesn't mean that there wasn't a perfectly logical and reasonable explanation. Right now I'm too tired to... to explore the possibilities."

"Yeah, you do look beat. Look, I'm sorry that you had to come all this way, but I needed you to sign off on this report from the assignment you completed before you left for Hawaii. See... you forgot to add your signature here," he flipped open another file and pointed to the bottom of the last page. "I can't submit it without your authentication..."

"No problem, Pete." Mac plucked the pen from his friend's pocket and added his distinct scrawl to the document. "Nowcan I go home and sleep?"

Pete chuckled and patted Mac on the shoulder. "Yes… absolutely… just let me finish here and I'll drive you home myself. Make yourself comfortable... this might take a few minutes." Mac obediently slumped into the closest chair and closed his eyes.

⌂

Mac dozed off almost immediately, but was awakened when he heard voices coming through the glass partition that led to the lab. The walls and glass were pretty thick, so they were really shouting. Curious, Mac opened one eye and saw his friend facing the two scientists, a young, thin man and a petite, sever-looking woman. They were both speaking urgently, with much waving of arms and red-faces, and both at the same time. Pete was standing solidly before the onslaught of their argument.

Thinking that he'd better at least go in and add his support, Mac got to his feet with a groan. He didn't really think that the situation would come to violence, but one could never tell. Scientists sometimes proved to be quite irrational when they felt that their work was being threatened... Mac hadn't forgotten about Jill Ludlum… or Dr. Millhouse.

Mac stepped into the first door to the airlock and waited for it to close and pressurize. When the door into the lab opened, Mac was nearly driven back by the sheer volume of the argument. He hurried to stand behind Pete.

"You **can't** just pull the plug..."

"Do you have **any idea** about the potential of what we've been working on..."

"... I don't see how _anyone_ without experience in this field could think that **they **have any right to judge the worthiness of..."

"... take **_my_** project somewhere where it can be appreciated..."

"Whoa! Whoa!" Mac said, raising his voice to cut through the chaos. "Everybody calm down! Just take it easy!"

"But," the young man said, his voice swiftly rising in volume the longer he spoke, "he's trying to cancel our projects! And I'm **_so close_**... so close to achieving my results! I just need more..." he stopped when Mac raised his hand and made a sharp gesture. "I'm sorry... er, sir... sorry, Mr. Thornton... I'm just... very passionate about my field of research."

"I know, Dr. Sonne," Pete said gently. "I'm very sorry, but I have no choice... really. The Board has discussed this very thoroughly and the decision has been made. Now, there is always the possibility that you and Dr. Brooks may qualify for a grant, or may find support from a private donation..."

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton," the woman cut in on Pete with a rude, hard voice, "but if you and your precious Board have decided that we're _not good enough_ to work here, it really is none of your concern what we do--or don't do-- from now on."

"Clare..." Eddie said softly, but the woman ignored him.

"Just go, if you don't mind. We apparently have a lot of packing to do!"

Pete nodded and retreated with dignity. Mac began to follow him, but looked back at Clare; she had turned away and seemed as if she were about to cry.

Tired as he was, Mac's heart went out to her, and he felt compelled to at least try to comfort her. "Dr. Brooks, I know it's hard... but this is no reason to give up."

Clare Brooks raised her head from her hands and Mac saw that he'd been mistaken. She wasn't crying. Her face was red and twisted with anger. "Hard? What do you know about how hard it's been?" She picked up a glass full of pale blue liquid and held it up as if to show it to MacGyver. "What is this? Time? Sweat? Do you think that it is as simple a thing as closing a book or washing out a test tube? This... is... **_important!_**" She screamed the last word and threw the bottle at Mac's head.

Mac ducked quickly, but the throw was not aimed well. It smashed into a control board and shattered, splashing liquid over the console. Mac managed to get his arms up to protect his eyes from flying glass, but the some of the fluid splattered onto his shirt and hair.

Sparks began to fly from the console, accompanied by smoke and a burning smell. Eddie gave a distressed cry, fumbling for a fire extinguisher. Mac grabbed Clare's arm and propelled her toward the door. She fought him, pushing him backward so that he bumped against a table laden with many bottles and glass apparatus, causing a great clatter. Clare gave another cry, this time in alarm that her research might be destroyed.

"Get her out of here!" Mac shouted at Eddie. He took the extinguisher from the young man and pushed him toward the door and Clare. Eddie took the woman in his arms and persuaded her to come into the airlock with him. The door slid shut automatically. Seconds later a piercing alarm began to sound; the fire had been detected by the internal computer surveillance system.

Mac easily got the fire under control with a few short bursts from the extinguisher. The console was a ruin of melted plastic and the computer monitor had cracked from the heat. Still, a few red lights glowed out of the mess, and Mac could hear a deep throbbing hum filling the room.

The machine that young Eddie Sonne had been working on was active, pulsing with light and sound. Mac could feel a tingle in the air like just before a thunder and lightning storm.

Pete was watching the whole scene with horror through the observation window. He found the intercom microphone and switched it on. "Mac! Mac, can you hear me?"

"Yeah." Mac plucked at his saturated shirt, "I got some of that stuff on me. Ask Dr. Brooks what was in that bottle."

Clare refused to answer, so Eddie said, "I'm not sure… it was Clare's experiment. I was working on the electro-stimulator."

The tingling sensation was increasing. "Can you tell me how to shut it off?" Mac asked.

"With the console out of commission, we'll have to cut the power to the generator directly… but that could be dangerous. I should do it..."

"No, you stay out of here," Mac said. "I think I can handle unplugging a generator."

"Be careful, Mac," Pete added.

"O-kay," Mac said. He approached the machine slowly, hoping that it wouldn't blow up in his face. A power line ran from the machine to a large electron battery. He moved toward it, but each step that took him closer made the sensation stronger, and soon his hair was standing up with static. Even his eyelashes seemed to be sparking.

The power line was attached to the battery with clips; he tried to remove them but the rubber substance on the grips was smoking-hot. Instead, he grabbed the lines yanked them free.

Immediately, the humming decreased sharply and wound down to nothing. However, the static charge in the air did not subside. Mac felt the intensity of the energy crackling around him. The feeling seemed to get inside of his skull. A headache close to the magnitude of a migraine struck him, and Mac thought that he would go blind with pain.

Two or three steps he managed toward the door, and then MacGyver seemed to stumble. To the three concerned persons watching through the safety glass, it appeared that he collapsed upon the floor for no obvious reason.

Pete tried to enter the laboratory to help his friend, but the doors had sealed when the fire alarm had sounded. He pounded on the door with his fist in frustration.

MacGyver lay on the floor unconscious, as if he had finally found the sleep he had so desperately been craving.


	2. Chapter 2 Déjà vu

**Slight of Mind, Chapter 2**  
**Déjà vu  
****  
Mac's Voice-over:  
**_It starts with me waking up not knowing where I am. I'm having strange dreams—not that I haven't had strange dreams before!—but I'm usually a lights-on /lights-off sleeper. It wasn't like that this time. I wasn't quite awake yet, but I was aware that I was dreaming. I tried to remember what had happened to me…_

_A picture appeared in my head, as clear as a clean window; I saw myself arriving at Western R&D… saw paperwork stacked neatly on a desk… saw Clare and Eddie working through the glass... saw Pete working from two different points of view. I saw the argument, the accident… and then I saw myself fall. It was weird! How does a person remember losing consciousness and see themselves _**after**_ they've collapsed? It was like I was watching it through someone else's eyes. _

_I struck a wall of confusion and fought my way over it, and found awareness on the other side.  
_

Mac opened his eyes. He was stretched out under a blanket on a couch in an empty office. Too tall to fit on the couch, some thoughtful person had put a chair under his feet. Mac remembered draping a blanket over a long body and grumbling because it wasn't long enough to come up to his chin _and_ cover his feet…

He shook his head sharply, wondering if he was still dreaming, and then he pushed aside both the blanket and the strange sensation of detachment. _I'm just tired,_ he told himself, clapping one hand over his eyes. _Sleep deprivation… that's all this is. _

He hear the soft swish of a door opening. Mac heard Pete's voice clearly:

_Mac! Are you feeling better?_

"I'm fine, Pete… thanks for asking," Mac said as he sat up, still rubbing his eyes.

"I'm glad to hear it, Mac," Pete said, "but I hadn't _actually_ asked… I was just about to."

Mac looked up at his friend and forced a smile. "I guess I just know you well enough to know what you're about to say."

"And I know _you_ well enough to know that you'd say 'I'm fine' even if you were at death's door." Pete was wearing a worried smile. "How are you… really?"

Mac conducted an internal inventory. "I feel… fine. _Really._ I guess I just needed a few hours of shut-eye." Mac stretched and ran fingers through his hair; he wanted a shower and a shave, but other than that—"I'm still tired, but then again I just flew half-way around the world— for nothing, I might add—what time is it, anyway?"

"It's almost seven," Pete said. The look of concern had not left his face yet, but Mac chose not to notice.

"Seven o'clock! Don't tell me I slept all night! I couldn't have…"

"No, Mac," Pete said slowly, sitting down in the chair that had been supporting Mac's feet, "it's still today… you've only been asleep for about four hours."

"Ah." Mac sat back and looked at Pete. "What the hell happened to me?"

"We're not sure… but I want to get you to a doctor and have you checked out. Dr. Sonne said that the electro-radiation you were exposed to might have some side-effects." Pete looked closely at Mac's face.

Mac drew back a little, disconcerted. "What kind of 'side-effects'?"

"Well," Pete began to answer, but before he managed to phrase his thoughts aloud, Mac knew what he was going to say…

… _And what was more, he knew the things that Pete **didn't** say!_

"Dr Sonne is concerned about possible damage to your hearing and your eyes. He said that—for reasons he hasn't discovered yet—his machine produced _way_ more electro-radiation than it was designed to produce. He said that people can be exposed to this radiation in a small level with no ill effects—but you absorbed about twenty times that amount. That's why you passed out, he said. He wanted to know if you are experiencing any pain or disorientation."

"Uh… not so far," Mac answered uncertainly. "What about that stuff in the bottle that Dr. Brooks threw at me?"

Pete frown deepened. "Er… we don't really know what it was. Dr. Brooks is reluctant to reveal the contents of her research… because I was preparing to pull her financial support, probably. She's not hysterical anymore, but she's being very uncooperative."

Mac looked Pete straight in the eye. "She thinks she's discovered the formula for ESP."

"Yes." Pete sighed. "She won't listen to reason. I've got a call in to the Phoenix lawyers, but…" Pete continued to talk, but Mac didn't listen. He didn't need to.

_I know everything Pete is going to say… before he actually says it! I even know how Pete is feeling… right down to the soreness in his shoulder from when he had tried to force the airlock door open after he'd seen me collapse…_

This was impossible! Mac didn't believe in mind-reading or precognition. Those were just parlor tricks… or at the very best common sense, logic, and good guesses.

_But I could feel my/Pete's shoulder hurting!_

"Pete," Mac said, cradling his head in his hands to conceal his own concern, "I want to go home."

"I …"

"I'll go see a doctor tomorrow… after I get some more sleep. I still feel wiped out."

Pete looked uncertain. Mac already knew what he was going to say; he let him say it. "I'd feel better if you'd let someone take a look at you now. We have no idea what was in that beaker."

"Well, it wasn't Koolaid… but it wasn't acid either." Pete made a face at that, so Mac pulled out his shirttail and grinned. "And look… no stains!" Pete was not amused.

Mac sighed and stood up. "Don't worry, Pete! See? I'm up and 'at 'em' and no worse for wear. I just want to go home and eat something and get some more sleep."

"Well… if you_ promise_ to go and see the doctor tomorrow…" Pete finally relented.

"I promise, Pete.

⌂

**Mac's Voice-over:**  
_As soon as we got into his car, I slumped down as if to take a nap while Pete drove me home. I couldn't sleep, but I pretended. I didn't want to answer any more questions… or see more of Pete's concerned stares. My mind was racing with chaotic images, voices, and ideas. I struggled to clear my mind and managed to fall into a light doze. _

_When Pete dropped me off in the parking lot at the marina, I had to plead with him to go home—he **can** be such a grandmother sometimes!—and he finally did drive off after I repeated my promise and said that I'd see him tomorrow._

_It was blissfully quiet on the water that evening. I walked sat on the deck of my houseboat and watched the city lights twinkling like stars on the invisible waters. That was the price of living in the City; no more star-watching. I experienced a pang of nostalgia for my old apartment in Griffith Observatory._

_The glimmer and shimmer coming off of the waters soon brought on a headache. I figured that a little real food and a shower should chase it away, but it stayed with me. So I swallowed a few aspirin and crawled into bed. _Everything would be better in the morning_, I told myself._

_I really wanted to believe that… but somehow a part of me knew I was going to be wrong._


	3. Chapter 3 Painful Insights

**Slight of Mind, Chapter 3  
Painful Insights  
**

By the time that Mac finally walked through the door to his office, Pete had been ready to send out every off-duty field operative to look for him. "You're kind of late, aren't you?" Pete asked sharply. He regretted it the instant he saw how tired and worn his friend looked. His voice softened as he said, "I was about to send the Mounties after you!"

"I've been busy," Mac's response was weary but glib. "Doc Beatty has a new hobby… collecting samples of all my bodily fluids and looking at them through every kind of microscope known to man." He flopped onto the sofa in the corner of the room, but he managed to summon enough energy to smile at his friend. "She finally let me go when she tried to draw some more blood and all she got was air!"

"She had you down there for two whole days," Pete said. "What did she find?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing! How could she find nothing?"

"That's why she took so long to look, I guess."

Mac had decided he wasn't going to mention the real reason for the delays unless he had to, but Pete wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"I heard that there was a little difficulty with the EKG machine."

"Yeah," Mac admitted reluctantly, not meeting Pete's eyes, "…a little."

"'_A little'_… Mac, you blew it up!"

"Not _on purpose!_" Mac exclaimed defensively. "Okay… okay! Doc Beatty found _some_thing… but it doesn't mean **_any_**thing…"

"She seems to think it does," Pete said, picking up a file from his desk and waving it as evidence.

Mac sulked, "Pete… you've worked in Intelligence for too long!"

Pete ignored him, flipping open the file. "It says here that your body chemistry is abnormal…"

"Not _dangerously_ so," Mac said petulantly.

"… and that until they can get a good look at your brain—the MRI machine seems to be malfunctioning, too—there's no way to tell what's happening. She recommends that I take you off of active duty…"

"Why?" Mac protested, "… so I can go stir-crazy, too? There's nothing wrong with me… other than some vivid dreams and a slight case of static electricity! All I need is some peace and quiet and a better brand of fabric softener! Come on, Pete! I know that you know what it means to_ need_ to work!"

Pete regarded his friend in silence for a few moments before he said, "Yes… I guess I do. Alright… we can at least work on the cases that we have open." He sat down at his desk and pulled a stack of folders toward himself. "We still have one problem that hasn't been solved, you know."

Mac stood up and came around the desk to look over Pete's shoulder. "Oh, yes… the Kellys. Has there been any new information about Mrs. Kelly and John Jr.?"

"No. And Mr. Kelly calls three times a day to see if we've learned anything new. The poor man is getting desperate." Pete chuckled as he shuffled the papers aside, "You know… I had a strange phone call awhile ago from one of our sources in the Organization, claiming that he knew something about Kelly through his Underworld channels. I think he was just trying to shake us down; Kelly doesn't strike me as **_that_** **_type_** of man…"

Mac reached past Pete to pick up a small slip of paper; the same piece of paper that had sent him flying toward Hawaii convinced that he could find the missing woman and her child. It was a receipt for airline tickets, paid for by Mrs. Kelly's credit card. He carried it with him over to one of two chairs that were angled in front of Pete's desk, where he sat down. "I was so sure that this was the answer, Pete."

"So did I!" Pete said, "but there wasn't a trace of them—**Mac! **What's wrong?"

Mac had been sitting and holding the receipt in his fingers. Then suddenly he had bolted to his feet, sending his chair tumbling backward onto the floor from the force of his movement.

Pete stared at his friend, alarmed by the expression on MacGyver's face. He had gone pale beneath his tan and his eyes had become dark as pools of ink. But what was more, he had a look of surprised comprehension on his face… a terrifying clarity of awareness.

He whispered a sentence that Pete almost couldn't hear, "They pulled a switch on us!"

"Mac? Mac, what is it?" Pete hastened around the large desk to stand near Mac, in case he collapsed again. "Are you alright?"

"I know where they are, Pete," Mac said calmly. "They're safe."

"What are you talking about, Mac?" Pete asked, confused. "You flew out to Hawaii yourself and couldn't find them! We've gone over the reports and video surveillance from the airport where they bought their tickets... we know from the airline manifest that their tickets were used, but Catherine Kelly and John Jr. were not seen boarding or exiting the plane. How can you know where they are?"

"I just _know_, Pete." Mac's voice was low and full of wonder. "It's all so clear to me now... it all makes sense… I—I should have seen it before…" There was a hint of doubt in his voice now; doubt that was rapidly turning over in Mac's mind to fear.

"What makes sense?" Pete asked desperately. "What did you see on that paper that can explain all this?" He reached out to take the receipt from Mac's fingers.

As Pete's hand came close to MacGyver's, a bright arc of electricity leapt from Mac's body and touched Pete's hand. He jumped back with a hiss. "Ah! Ouch!"

Mac didn't seem to notice. He reached blindly forward until he felt the top of the desk, and then he eased himself down until he was sitting on the edge, unmindful of the stacks of paperwork that covered the surface. "I hadn't even considered the possibility..." Mac's voice was as distant as his gaze, "... and it's so simple! So completely obvious..."

"Mac? What was that? What is happening to you?" Pete cradled his burned hand, torn between wanting to help his friend and caution. He walked around the desk and stood in front of Mac, placing himself so that his friend could not fail to see him without turning his head away. "Mac!"

At first, Mac didn't seem to recognize him. Then he blinked as if waking up from a dream and his strange dark eyes focused on Pete. "Don't _you_ see it now? She used a credit card to buy tickets… but not for her and her son. They must have met someone in the airport... someone they knew or got to know while they were there... and talked them into trading tickets with them. They gave up their tickets to Hawaii for tickets that couldn't be traced to them!"

"My God... if that's true—they could be anywhere!" Pete shook his head, forgetting for a moment about his stinging fingers. "Well, we can find out what other tickets were purchased in pairs that day... John Jr. would be old enough to pass with an adult ticket... we might find them yet--"

"You don't understand, Pete..." Mac said, a strange smile overcoming his pale face, "None of that is necessary... _I know where they are!_"

"How? **_How_** can you know?" Pete insisted.

Mac hesitated; a flash of uncertainty crossed his face. "I... just do. It's as if I can _see_ them... I know that they're safe and that they're staying... where they're at," Mac ended lamely.

"Where? Tell me where, Mac!"

"I will, Pete... but you can't tell anyone else! Or write it down anywhere! If there's a leak here in the Foundation... they mustn't be found! Especially by John Kelly."

"But Mac," Pete said, "her husband is desperate to know where she and their son are! He came to us to find them..."

"Because he's the one they're hiding from! They know something, Pete... something that he doesn't want to get out," Mac said grimly. The color was returning to his face now, though his eyes were still bright and dark at once. "They witnessed something and he is hunting them down to keep them silent."

"_What?_ Just exactly how did you deduce all that from one airline receipt? Are you saying that the rumors of Kelly's involvement with organized crime might be true?"

"What I'm saying, Pete, is that--" Mac started to say more but suddenly he swayed, reaching out with one hand for balance. Pete took his arm by reflex and prevented him from falling. Mac leaned forward as if stricken with a terrible headache.

Pete righted the chair and eased him into it, letting his friend bend forward with his head resting on his knees "Mac? Are you alright?" Pete asked again. "I'm going to call Doc Beatty..."

"No, Pete." Mac's voice was muffled because he had buried his face in his hands. "I'm fine... I just have a bit of a headache. Do you have any aspirin around here?"

"I'll get you some... just stay right there." Pete gave him one last worried glance before he hurried out of the office, shouting for Helen.

After he heard the door to the office close, Mac sat up in the chair and lowered his hands. There was a trickle of blood leaking from the corners of each of his eyes-- eyes that now were once again as brown as they had been all of his life. He reached into a pocket and drew out a handkerchief to clean the stains from his hands and his face.

**Mac's Voice-over:**  
_I don't know why I didn't want Pete to know about this... I guess I didn't want to worry him over something he couldn't do anything about. I knew he'd insist on more doctors and more tests... and that didn't fall into my plans. I didn't know what was happening to me. I **did** know that nobody at Phoenix could help me._

_There was only one man I could think of that might be able to help. I'd said goodbye to him a long time ago... on a lonely country road somewhere outside the border of East Germany as I was standing amid the collapse of a home-made hot air balloon._

_I knew that I had to find Starkoss... somehow... and I didn't know how much time I had. _

_I was beginning to **hurt**._


	4. Chapter 4 Nothing up My Sleeve

**Slight of Mind, ch 4  
****Nothing up My Sleeve**

**Mac's Voice-over:**  
_There's nothing I wanted more than to run straight out of Pete's office and find Starkoss… but I didn't know where to look. The vague feeling I had—that might **or **__**might not** be accurate—didn't come with compass points and certainly didn't provide a zip code. Besides, I still wasn't prepared to take out stock in ESP… not even if it is _**my**_ brain that's doing the perceiving!_

_It made sense to start where I'd last seen him… on that country lane outside of Munich. He'd waved at me and Nikki one last time and then disappeared into a copse of trees. That had been a couple of years ago. _

_Starkoss didn't want to live like a freak in a zoo anymore… a subject for study and tests, doctors staring and people poking at him… that's what he'd told me. At the time I thought I had understood. Now… _**now**_, I understood _exactly_ what he had meant. He didn't want to be found and he wouldn't be easy to follow._

_If I was going to find that wily old man, I was going to need help._

_⌂_

"The news isn't good, Mac," Pete confessed as his friend stepped into his office. It was late; most of the staff at the Phoenix Foundation had already departed for their homes. All was dim and quiet in the corridors of the great building, apart from one office on the eighth floor. Light blazed out between the vertical blinds of the office of the Director of Operations.

Pete had set aside much of his work to help MacGyver look for Starkoss. He wasn't sure what to believe concerning the events of the past few days. Mac seemed to be able to pick the thoughts out of his mind before he could voice them. Not just his own, either.

The morning after Mac's surprising revelation about John Kelly's involvement with the Organization, Pete's secretary Helen had come into the office with aspirin and a glass of water. She had handed them to MacGyver, her face a study in matriarchal concern, and patted him gently on the arm.

Mac had given her a grateful look and said, "Thanks, Helen." And then he got a strange expression on his face and added suddenly, "Buy the blue one."

"The blue what?" Helen asked gently, wondering if MacGyver had got hit on the head again.

"Your god-daughter is going to have a boy. Buy the blue onesy… and get a size two. He's going to be a big boy."

Helen raised her eyebrows in surprise. She patted Mac again and then turned and slowly walked out of the office. She paused in the doorway to whisper to Pete as he was coming back in, "How did he know about my god-daughter? I just found out that she was expecting!"

"Er… he must have seen the magazine on your desk," Pete had answered, thinking fast. He had seen her leafing through a baby catalogue during her coffee break.

Helen had agreed, but Pete could tell she wasn't completely convinced. He was glad that he could rely on Helen's discretion; he wasn't sure he wanted this gossiped about around the water cooler. He looked at Mac in wonder. Had Mac seen the catalogue or overheard Helen talking about the baby… or was it something else?

If Pete hadn't suspected that Mac had ESP that morning, he was convinced of it by that evening. They'd been going over a report that had been filed right after the GX-1 incident, and Mac had been reading something on the computer screen over Pete's shoulder. Pete had felt that weird static electricity feeling on his neck, and he was just about to suggest calmly that Mac not touch the computer when his friend spoke softly into his ear.

"I know, Pete… I can feel it too. It seems to build up and increase if I concentrate too hard on something. I think I better go and have a sit-down across the room for a while. Let me know if you find anything." He left Pete's side and went and sat down on the couch in the corner of the office. He got back up immediately and went over to the bookshelf.

On one of the shelves, Mac found three beanbags with which he had once tried to teach Pete to juggle. He began tossing them to himself deftly, gradually speeding up and performing simple tricks. When he noticed Pete watching him, Mac offered a grin and said jokingly, "I do birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, too!" In a softer, more serious tone he added, "It takes just enough of my attention to keep my mind busy."

"Ah… okay, Mac," Pete had no idea what else to say, so he went dutifully back to work.

⌂

"The news isn't good." Pete could tell that Mac already knew. He sighed as he watched Mac settle dejectedly into a chair. "I wish I had something to give you... even a weak lead… but there's been nothing…"

"I know, Pete," Mac rubbed his forehead absently. "I've been down at Records, reading—did you know that Dennis and Veronica are planning a wedding? I thought that boy was never going to propose to her…"

Mac saw Pete's uneasy glance and added in answer to Pete's unasked question, "He _told_ me… he asked me to be Best Man."

"Um, good… that's great." Pete shook his head. "Did you find any answers in Records?"

"No… just piles of unconfirmed incidents and photos of fake UFOs. I didn't know whether to just throw them all away or call Mulder." At Pete's blank look, Mac added, "It's a TV show… on the Fox network… it's called 'The X-Files'… never mind." He gently pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. "Back to square one, I guess."

"Maybe there is something to this extra sensory perception, Mac," Pete suggested hesitantly. When Mac rounded a glare at him, he added, "You do seem to know certain things… well, maybe you've seen things or heard things that didn't register at the time and your brain is just now processing the information… but still," Pete chose his next words very carefully, "maybe we could try something… else."

"What 'something else'?" Mac asked.

"Well, I was going over that old recording of Starkoss that we have… the one that had been smuggled out of the Petroski Institute that I showed to you and Nikki, remember? And it gave me an idea…" Pete rose and crossed the room, taking down a roll of maps that he had lying along one of the book shelves. He unrolled it across the clear half of his desk, selecting one of the several and laying it on top. It was a world map, with the countries delineated in various colors. Pete anchored down the curling edges with his coffee cup and a stapler.

Pete glanced at Mac before he spoke, trying to gauge his friend's mood. Mac was wearing an expression that lived somewhere between curiosity and disgust. "Look, I know how you feel about this… but what will it hurt to try?"

"I… I don't know what to do," Mac said. His hands felt cold; he crossed his arms and tucked his fingers under, unconsciously placing a barrier between him and the maps.

"Some people who claim to have the ability can look at a map and figure out where something is."

"Just by looking at it?" Mac said, incredulous.

"Or by touching it… and concentrating on what they want to find. This is how Starkoss found where the GX-1 crashed."

Mac looked at Pete with a tilt to his head and a wry smile. "I find it strange that you're the one suggesting that we try this… this _parlor trick_… **I'm** usually the one trying to talk **you** into trying crazy things!"

Pete nodded. "You have talked me into some pretty strange things… remember Carrie Lindon, the teacher at the school for the deaf children? You were willing then to suspend your disbelief in unexplainable phenomena… when you were trying to help her understand her nightmares."

"Yeah, well… it wasn't happening to _me_… then," Mac grumbled. After a moment, he sighed. "Okay, I can see that I'm being a little hypocritical, here. I'll give it a go… but I still don't know what I'm doing."

"Just try. Let's see what happens."

Mac leaned over the map, feeling foolish. _Okay… so I'm looking. What's supposed to happen? Is one of the little ink-etched countries supposed to glow or something? _Mac sighed and reached out and swept his hand across the map to smooth the curling paper.

The texture of the sheet felt odd… both smooth and tacky, like something sticky had been spilled upon it and then dried. He ran his hands over it again.

Pete's voice was barely more than a whisper, "What is it, Mac?"

Mac didn't answer, afraid that the sensation would go away if he stopped looking. He moved his fingers slowly across the sheet until suddenly they stopped. It felt to him as if a portion of the map was covered with sandpaper. He opened his eyes that he hadn't realized that he had closed, and looked at where his hands had stopped.

His thumbs and forefingers lay like a frame around the north-eastern portion of the United States. Hastily, Mac swept the map aside and sorted through the others that Pete had brought him, until he found an enlarged map of New England. The state of Maine had the same, strange gritty texture.

Mac raised his head and looked at Pete in amazement. "I think… I think this means he is here… in the U.S." He felt twitchy all over suddenly; he ran his fingers through his hair and static crackled. He realized that he was charged all over with electricity. "Um… Pete? I don't think this was such a good idea to try …"

A brilliant flash of blue-white erupted in the room, and suddenly the lights blinked out in the office. From outside on the street, passers-by saw the tall, glass building of the Phoenix Foundation suddenly go dark floor by floor. In a matter of minutes, the entire building was blacked out.

"… Indoors." Mac finished his sentence, then added in matter-of-fact voice, " Uh… Pete? Is it **very** dark in here… or did I just go blind?"

"It's dark in here."

"Good. I mean… sorry…"

"Well!" Pete said as he felt around in his desk drawer for a candle, "I wanted you to try… so don't blame yourself. That didn't happen when Starkoss did it!"


	5. Chapter 5 Man of the Mind

**Slight of Mind, ch 5  
****Man of the Mind**

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_The trees of Northern Maine are not much different than those in the backwoods of Northern Minnesota where I grew up. The biting air from the Atlantic Ocean, or perhaps it was my own bizarre condition, I'm not sure—whatever the difference, they seemed somehow more alive… more animated… talkative, if you will. Not in words such as you and I would use to speak, yet each bole and branch seemed to have a story to tell me, and it was with some difficulty that I achieved any measure of speed along my journey... such was my desire to stop and hear what could be said._

_It was easier if I didn't think about it; just forge ahead blindly and let the weird tickling in my brain lead me to the left or right. I'd come so far and I still seemed no closer… but a feeling of urgency was on me and a dull ache was building behind my eyes. There was no going back until I found the man I had come to see._

_The trip from L.A. was behind me; getting to this place had been an adventure in and of itself. I won't go into it now, but I will say this much: when a person is subject to unpredictable discharges of static electricity, traveling by airplane is not highly recommended! Luckily, no one was seriously hurt… and _most_ of that would-be hijacker's hair will probably grow back._

_But that's another story._

_Right now, I was trying to find an old acquaintance. Starkoss; an unusual man with unusual abilities. Whether or not he was truly Sensitive… to use the word that one book on the subject of E.S.P. had given as a politically correct term for one who allegedly has such special abilities, that is, a psychic… I couldn't say for sure; none of the things he said or did during our time together in Germany had convinced me that he **was** psychic. Logic and reason and a good network of information could have provided the same results… but the fact remained that **he believed it**. And that is why I needed him now. Sensitive or not, I believed that he was uniquely qualified to advice me on my current uncomfortable condition. _

_So that was how I found myself in Northern Maine, trying not to commune with the screaming trees, standing on the crest of a woodsy ridge looking down into a small valley with a silver creek running through, and a small log-built cabin nestled comfortably among the fat evergreens. A ribbon of smoke rose from the chimney, waving in the air like a welcoming flag. I knew the moment I set my eyes on it that I'd found him._

_I also knew that he was expecting me._

The cabin door swung open as Mac placed his foot on the first of three steps leading up to the wooden deck. A man came out. He was a little older, a little thinner than Mac remembered, but his face was glowing with warmth and health, and he was wearing a wide and welcoming smile.

"My dear MacGyver, you are well come indeed. How long it has been since we parted ways upon the road to Munich!" Starkoss took him by the arms just above his elbows and squeezed gently; the Russian equivalent of a hug. "I wondered for how much longer you would wait before seeking me out."

Mac felt a little dazed just standing this close to Starkoss; he had forgotten the feeling of presence that the man exuded. The confidence and bearing with which the older man carried himself had left him somewhat breathless when he had first encountered him. That presence seemed now even more tangible.

At first, he could find no words to say, but allowed Starkoss to guide him inside the cabin and show him a seat next to a blazing fire. Mac didn't feel overly cold, but the welcomed the cheery warmth. Starkoss disappeared into the next room for a few minutes and then returned with a tray covered with sandwiches and a pitcher of tea, which he set nearby before settling comfortably into another chair.

At last, Mac found his tongue. "You… knew I was coming?" This was not the question that was foremost in his mind—Mac was experiencing a great mixture of feelings; relief at finally having found Starkoss, as well as confusion and anxiety—but it seemed to be as good a place to start as any. "How did you know?"

"How else?" Starkoss smiled and tapped his forehead with the fingers of one hand.

The weight of the distance he'd traveled and all that had happened to him settled on Mac at that moment, and his mind rebelled. He felt cold in spite of the fire and wondered suddenly if he should not have come.

"Walter."

"What?" Mac asked, nonplussed. "Who is Walter?"

Starkoss's smile was a gentle thing. "That is my given name. I just recalled that I never told you what was my given name. People have called me by my surname for so long, I had nearly forgotten I possessed another. But for people who risked their own lives to help me to freedom… I make the effort to remember."

Mac smiled a little, shrugging with one shoulder. "It was no trouble… I was in the neighborhood."

Starkoss nodded and both men fell silent and watched the fire in silence.

**Mac's Voice-over:**

_There is purity in fire… I have always found it comforting. Well-seasoned wood such as what Starkoss was using burned slowly, with only an occasional murmur and sigh as the tiring wood collapses into the bed of coals. The sound of the flames was the only sound in the room; like the rush of wind from the beating of a bird's wings, but softer. I was grateful that I could no longer hear the sounds of the voices of the trees. My mind became clear for the first time in a long, long time. _

Mac felt himself calming as he watched the flames consuming the fuel, turning wood into coals which fell into ashes. This was the natural course of things, in his mind, and he drew as much comfort from that as he did from the heat and the light.

After a long while, Starkoss spoke again softly. "Why have you come here, MacGyver?"

Mac looked up from the fire, casting an uneasy glance toward Starkoss. "You don't know? I mean… can't you read my mind?"

Starkoss smile was now a small thing. "I cannot tell you of your own mind what you do not know yourself, my friend. I can only say that you are confused and afraid… but not why."

Oddly, Mac found comfort in the fact that Starkoss couldn't read him. "I trying to think of a way to talk about what has happened and ask you the things I need to know without dying of embarrassment in the process. I'm finding it hard… I don't believe in this stuff… but I can't explain what's happening without believing… at least, a little." Mac sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You're the only person who can help me."

"How can I help you?" The creases and wrinkles in Starkoss's face were made deeper by the firelight; he seemed confused and yet somehow delighted at the same time.

"Tell me how to… control it! To make it go away!" Desperation edged into his voice. Mac paused and took a few deep breaths to calm down again.

"Control? Make what go away, exactly?"

Mac sighed. He was going to have to say it, no matter how much he would prefer to deny it.

"I… I think that… that I can read minds," he blurted out at last. "Like you did back in Germany. You told me that you could see things… pictures in your head. I didn't really believe it then. I thought it was all a trick… but now I—this is so weird and fantastic!—and I think it is driving me crazy!"

"Tell me everything that has happened." Starkoss picked up his cup and sat back. "Do not worry yourself with belief or disbelief. You are a man of the mind, as once I said, and _facts_ are what you like to think about… so give me the facts. But also, tell me the _feelings_… for those are what **I** like most to think about."


	6. Chapter 6 No Accident

**Slight of Mind, ch 6  
****No Accident**

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_I don't think I've ever talked so much in my life to any one person as I talked to Starkoss that day in his cabin. I told him about the incident at Western R&D and all the strange things that had begun happening to me afterward. I also told him about the other strange occurrences in my life—things that I could never explain but stayed in the back of my mind, like mystery novels I had started but never finished reading. _

_Starkoss just sat listening, occasionally smiling or nodding but never interrupting. I guess he could tell that if I stopped talking, I might not get started again. The fire died down and we fed it more wood. We ate sandwiches and drank tea. Evening melted into night very early; the sun went down behind the mountains and the darkness pooled around us. Fingers of sunlight reached across the sky but could not touch us._

_I don't know when it happened, and the details seem fuzzy to me now, but during the course of my tale, I remember moments when I could not find the words I wanted to express myself. During those times it seemed that Starkoss still heard me, but more than just the words I was fumbling for. He listened and he **felt**, and his presence comforted me eventually into silence._

⌂

"And that's the story," Mac concluded his monologue, tipping his cup as if to drink, forgetting that he had drained the last of the tea it had contained an hour ago.

Starkoss rose from his seat without a comment and went into the kitchen where he started coffee brewing in an old-fashioned percolator.

Mac rose as if to follow him, but his attention was caught by something on the high mantle over the fireplace. There was a painting centered on the shelf, but just behind it had been tucked a smaller frame, almost out of sight.

Mac removed it carefully and examined the picture. It was a very old photograph, developed in tones of sienna. There was a large crease through the middle where it had been folded and unfolded many times. In spite of its age and wear, the faces of the people in the photo were quite clear. Mac did not recognize any of them.

Starkoss returned, pausing on the threshold. Mac set the picture carefully back on the mantle. "Sorry… I'm famous for being nosy."

Starkoss said nothing. He reached out with gentle fingers and slid the picture back behind the oil painting. Then he returned to his seat beside the fire.

⌂

Starkoss sat quietly regarding the ashes in the grate. MacGyver, his story finished, sat with his head in his hands, trying to rub away the persistent ache flaring behind his eyes.

When the older man leaned forward to touch his sleeve, Mac looked up into his concerned face.

"You are ill, my boy."

Mac dropped his hands guiltily. "I'm fine," he lied.

One of Starkoss's eyebrows lifted high, as if amused that MacGyver thought he could deceive him. "You are in pain. You have been since you arrived. Though you try to conceal it, you cannot hide such things from me."

"Reading my mind?" Mac leaned back in his chair. "It's nothing... just a headache. I've had worse."

"Yes… worse. Like when you saw the woman you told me about, the one with the young child?" MacGyver gave him no answer, so he continued, "When you took that paper into your hands-- the one she had held at one time herself-- you knew her thoughts at the time she held it. You saw her like a picture in your mind. Is this not true?"

"Yes. But it was more than that. I also saw where she was... at _that_ time. I knew she was safe. And I knew why she was running." Mac chuckled without humor. "And then I started to bleed from my eyes."

"And you never had this experience before. You think that this accident—this experiment that these doctors were making—has somehow changed you?"

"If that's even possible," MacGyver muttered numbly.

"Not just possible, but extremely likely, I'm afraid," said Starkoss. "It has been my experience, MacGyver, that such accidents are **not** _accidents!_"

"Not an accident? Why would anyone deliberately want to make me a psychic? Most people think I'm too nosy as-it-is!"

Starkoss laughed deeply. "You havenot been 'made into a psychic', my boy! You must put from your mind any such suspicion."

"But, I've seen things… I... know things, and I can't explain how I know them."

"You underestimate yourself, MacGyver," Starkoss said. He got up from his chair and picked up the tray containing the remains of their meal. "You are a very perceptive and resourceful man. I think that you are more able than you give yourself credit for. But there is no unusual power at work here."

Mac rocked back in surprise, forgetting for a moment his growing headache. "But I knew what Pete was thinking, what he was going to say before he spoke!"

"You and Peter Thornton are close comrades, no? Is it so uncommon that you know what courses his mind will take?"

"Well… no… but, how do you explain how I found you? I didn't have a clue where to look!"

"Perhaps it was I who drew you to me."

"You… drew me here? Why?"

"Because I knew you needed help."

"How do you know? Did you have a vision about this?"

"Just as you and your comrade Peter are close, so it is with you and I; though we have not spent much time together, we have shared danger, and as dissimilar as we are, still we share many things in common. We are both men of the mind, you see.

"As far as this problem of yours, it is not foresight that has come over me, but memory; I have some knowledge which you do not have. I will explain:

"When I was in Moscow, there was a place where people like me were brought; Psychics you might say… as well as those with other talents; those who could read the thoughts of another, some that heard only the voices of the dead. One young woman could start fires just with the force of her mind—a girl of mercurial temperament, she was! Some could read objects, a few divined the future… as you can imagine; it made a very interesting mix of people.

"The government wished to perform studies on the abilities of these special people. I was one in whom several of these abilities flourished. A great Talent, I was considered. As a result of this infamy, I was only observed by the doctors, given exercises that were designed to measure my ability and… usefulness. How I tired of performing for them; I jumped like a dog through hoops for a master that was never satisfied."

"I know," Mac said softly. "I saw a taped recording of you, once. Before the mission when Nikki and I first met you."

Starkoss smiled a brief, bright smile at the mention of Nikki Carpenter. "Then you do have some idea of that which I speak." Starkoss continued his dialogue. "But those others… oh, most terrible things they were made to endure! I could scald you ears with stories… but that is all best left to the mercy of fading memory.

"The purpose of these experiments, beyond the measuring of endurance and effect, was to attempt to find some way to affect these talents in individuals who had never before demonstrated any such ability."

"The Russians were trying to create an ESP drug!" Mac stated in amazement.

"A serum, yes. They wished to induce such talents in those persons over whom they exercised more power than we insubordinate mentalists."

"Being able to read minds would be a handy tool for any Intelligence Agency," Mac said, shivering at the prospect.

"Yes, but they had little success in these experiments. In spite of the tests and the studies, the doctors were never successful in trying to produce these abilities in anyone who did not already possess them. They did manage to make serums and treatments that enhanced already existing abilities, but there were side effects to these procedures."

"Side effects," Mac echoed hollowly. The pain in his head throbbed steadily.

"Yes. Dreadful side effects. In one case, so extreme that the subject died as a result. I had thought after that unfortunate occurrence the research had been abandoned… but after my departure, I cannot be sure what became of the program."

Mac's brow furrowed as he frowned. "Do you think that Brooks and Sonne managed to get a-hold of this research and duplicate it? And I manage to walk into the middle of it all! Some accident, huh!"

Starkoss uttered a deep chuckle and repeated, "Such accidents are not accidents."


	7. Chapter 7 A Phone Call Away

**Slight of Mind, ch 7  
****A Phone Call Away**

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_For every quiet and lonely cabin, whether it be nestled in a green valley or perched high on an unforgiving mountain, there has to be local trading post. I hiked out of Starkoss's fortress of solitude to find such a place; Bachman's Grocery, about four and a half miles off the county road. The building looked so much like Ellard's store at Widow's Canyon that I had to take a long second look to make sure it **wasn't** exactly the same! There was even a gregarious, graying old gentleman chatting away on the telephone inside. _

_It reminded me of something I had once heard;_ 'When you are at home in your heart, you can never be truly lost'. _These days I'm not sure if I'm at home in my heart or just desperate for some normalcy. _

_I'll take what I can get._

_Bachman's going to let me use his phone. I hope he doesn't mind the long-distance call._

⌂

"Well, Mac—this time I have good news _and_ bad news," Pete's voice came over the phone line somewhat distantly; the telephone at the trading post had only a single party line, grainy and full of static. "It's the John Kelly case. One of his people has turned state's evidence against him, and the DA has connected Kelly with the manufacture and dealing of dangerous street drugs, as well as extortion, assault and maybe murder. The police have broken his operation wide open."

"That's the good news, I take it," asked Mac.

"Yes. The bad news is that even though they sprang a good trap and rounded up the majority of Kelly's people, John Kelly himself seems to have escaped the net and disappeared. It appears that someone warned him. I'm conducting an investigation to see if the security leak came from Phoenix personnel."

Mac sighed, pressing his aching forehead against the cool glass of the phone booth. "Are Catherine Kelly and John Jr. are still safe?"

"Presumably, they are. For the moment."

"What do you mean 'for the moment', Pete?" Mac asked quickly.

"The DA is having trouble finding witnesses. With Kelly on the loose, most people are unwilling to talk. According to what they've uncovered, Catherine Kelly witnessed John Kelly ordering a contract on a local businessman who refused to pay his 'neighborhood association fees'. That man was later found to have been killed—execution-style—and his business and family home were burned to the ground. When she found out about it, she took her son and vanished."

"No wonder," Mac breathed, "the guy's a monster."

"Yeah, and the DA want to put him down. They want to bring in Mrs. Kelly and her son."

"What for? Wives can't be forced to testify against their husbands."

"Mac, the DA wants this conviction so bad, he's willing to take the risk that she can be persuaded."

"They don't seem to mind taking risks with other people's lives," Mac said bitterly.

"Well, they do need to get Kelly off the streets… the man is a cold-blooded killer. He may not do the dirty work himself, but he's not above seeing it done. Look, Mac, I know you don't want to bring them in—and **_you_** shouldn't try. I don't know how I let you talk me into allowing you to go in the first place! Are you still having headaches?"

"They're… um… tapering off a bit," Mac said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Right." Pete's voice sounded unconvinced. "Will you get back here and let Doc Beatty take care of you?"

"Pete, we both know she can't help me. I need to get hold of Brooks and Sonne. They are the ones responsible for doing this to me. If there is a cure to this—whatever they've done to me—then they know what it is. But first I want to make sure that Mrs. Kelly and her son are really safe. I'm going to try to find them."

"You said you knew where they are," Pete said uncertainly.

"Maybe. I don't think this new _talent_ of mine is that reliable. But I do have a friend who might be able to help me… and I think that's all I should say on this line. Half the eastern seaboard could be listening in right now."

"Alright… thanks, Mac. You have the support of the Foundation behind you. Just call for anything you need."

"Thanks, Pete. You'll be hearing from me."

⌂

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_I had to hand it to Catherine Kelly; she knew how to find a good hiding place. I chartered a small airplane and flew out that day. Commercial and private air-travel was commonplace where I was going, so I wasn't worried about seeming out-of-place… but I was very extra-careful to keep a look-out for anyone who could be trying to follow me. _

_Starkoss had given some very sound advice concerning my 'talents'—how to block out unwanted voices, how to control the electrical build-up when it occurred. He warned me about placing too much faith in precognition, as such things can be misinterpreted, and he encouraged me to trust the instincts that I had possessed all my life. These, he said, were much more reliable than any chemically-reinforced suggestions._

_That was his theory; that I'd been hit with this drug—a drug that some mad Russian scientist had cooked up. How Brooks or Sonne had gotten their hands was not too far-fetched to imagine… lots of old files had unlocked and secret documents had been traded around after the Cold War had warmed up and the old walls had come down in Eastern Europe. For the right amount of money—or the correct level of intrigue—a person could obtain anything._

On the corner of a vast landing field, a lonely single-engine airplane landed delicately on the tarmac. It made a wide turn and taxied lazily toward the hangers, where a flight crew received the small white bird. It was very early in the morning.

The pilot unfolded his long frame from the tiny cockpit and stretched himself to relieve the cramps in his legs from the long hours of flight. He picked up his travel bag and began the long walk to the parking area, where a rental car waited for him. Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, he climbed in behind the wheel, buckled his seatbelt, and reached up to adjust his rear-view mirror.

A woman was sitting in the back seat of the car; she had been crouched down so that he could not see her. She sprang up and placed the cold steel of a pistol against the skin behind his right ear. "Surprise, MacGyver."

"Dr. Brooks," Mac said with a wry smile, "I guess I should have seen this coming, huh?"


	8. Chapter 8 Taken For a Ride

**Slight of Mind, ch 8  
****Taken For a Ride**

"I should have seen it coming," Mac said with a shrug. "I guess that drug you made didn't have as much **_umph!_** as it should have."

"It was good enough to get you here," Clare Brooks sneered. "You have no idea… the plans you disrupted, barging into the lab like… like a bull in a china shop! Well, at least you saved me the trouble of searching for a guinea pig to test my serum on!" She thumbed back the hammer on the gun and pressed it firmly against his skull. "Drive."

"Where to, ma'am?" Mac calmly started the engine and pulled out of the parking space.

Clare snorted. "You know where."

"Yes, but the question is—how do **you** know _where?_"

Clare merely smiled in response.

"Ah… so I'm **not **the only guinea pig… you tested it on yourself."

"Yes. So I know that it works! And I'll know it if you try to deceive me. Don't try to go to the cops… they'll never believe your story!"

"Maybe not… but they might believe that gun you've got stuck in my ribs. Kidnapping is still illegal, you know."

"This is just to keep you from getting funny, MacGyver. I've been warned about you. Now drive."

Mac operated the car smoothly; they passed through the guard station easily, Clare kept the gun out of sight between the bucket-style seats. They merged into traffic and gained the highway. Mac held the car's speed to just under the legal limit, letting cars and trucks pass him left and right.

"Drive faster! We don't want to be late for the family reunion." MacGyver tossed her a sharp look; she laughed and gloated, "We didn't have to follow you, you idiot! We could read your mind and tell where you were going… you may as well have advertised your destination! Once we learned which airport you were going to land at—thanks for renting the car with your Phoenix Foundation ID, by the way—it was just a matter of waiting."

"Got a mole at Phoenix, do you?" Mac asked. "Let me guess… a certain security guard at Western R&D."

Clare stopped smiling. "How did you… oh. Well, he served his purposes and was paid. You realize by now that you weren't the original target; if Thornton had drank the coffee, we'd have had our hands in all the Phoenix Foundation's secret files… that was the plan from the beginning. But he wasn't thirsty… so you got unlucky."

"I figured that it had to be more than just the stuff in that bottle that you threw at me." Mac sped up a little and signaled. He changed lanes, moving in and out of traffic. "I'll bet the formula wasn't easy to reproduce."

"It was more than that; the serum is complicated. It must be ingested, inhaled, and absorbed subcutaneously. You have to expose the eyes and temper the aural sense; it must inundate all the senses. Eddie and I orchestrated it perfectly." Clare preened in the rearview mirror.

Mac couldn't conceal his amusement, "No, I meant that it must have been hard to translate everything from Russian." He looked at Clare's reflection; she wasn't smiling anymore. "Don't let me interrupt…. go ahead and expound on your ingenious plan. I'm fascinated."

"No," Clare pouted, changing her grip on the pistol and prodding him with the barrel in the ribs. "I don't like people that make fun of me." With her free hand, she reached up and began to massage her temple.

"I'm not making fun of you," Mac said mildly. "You're a serious scientist and you've taken something amazing and made it real. But I wonder about a drug that makes people psychic… how can that be practical? If anyone who takes the drug can read minds, it won't be long before secret formula will be public… not to mention that your crimes will be well known." Mac steered the car onto an exit and rode the curve, speeding up to merge into a new flow of traffic.

Clare laughed. "Well… we won't give the serum to just anybody! And besides, the effects are only temporary…" Clare stopped, realizing she had just given away valuable information.

Mac pressed on. "And what about these side effects? Hemorrhages and migraines are a stiff price to pay _for the illusion of telepathy_."

Clare stiffened. "Illusion? What do you mean?!"

"I mean, your drug doesn't work, Clare. If it did, you'd have realized by now that I've been driving in circles while you've been talking your head off." Mac signaled again and pulled to the side of the highway, then onto the smooth green swath of grass beyond the flow of traffic. He shut off the engine and half-turned in his seat to look her in the face. "But try to see the bright side; your partners won't know that you've unintentionally betrayed them."

Clare leveled the gun at Mac's chest. "You're lying! I know… I can read…"

"No, you can't," Mac said, ignoring the gun, "you know where I was going because you had a spy at the Foundation. You think you can read minds for the same reason I did… but it is a mind-trick. We see and hear a hundred times more than our brains can process, Clare. We may not realize it, but it is all in there…" he tapped his forehead with a finger, "… waiting to be retrieved. Your drug makes that retrieval a little easier, that's all.

"I'm not saying that it isn't and incredible scientific discovery," Mac added as the feisty woman lunged the gun forward, "but it is not what you think it is. It is not a formula for ESP."

"But… I …" Clare's hand drooped as defeat settled on her; Mac took the gun from her hand, placing out of her reach.

Behind them on the grass, a car pulled out of traffic and parked; two plainclothes policemen approached Mac's car, opened the rear door and helped the unresisting woman out.

Before she allowed them to lead her away, Clare turned to MacGyver and said, "If what you say is true, you won't be able to save them… the woman and her child. He'll pay any amount of money—do any unspeakable thing—to stay out of prison. He'll kill you, Eddie… even his wife! You need to know what is in his mind… and now you don't have the advantage that you'll need to catch him!"

Mac started the engine and put the car in gear. "I don't need to be able to read another person's mind, Clare; I just need to read my own." He tapped his forehead again, and then made a salute to her. "And maybe some luck."

Clare looked at him earnestly. "Good luck, MacGyver," she said, and then she turned and walked away with the policemen.

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_One down… two to go. _

_My head is killing me._


	9. Chapter 9 Tag! You're Toast!

**Slight of Mind, ch 9  
****Tag—You're Toast!**

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_Alright, you caught me… when I told Clare that her ESP drug didn't work, I was exaggerating a little. Okay… okay… I was **lying!** I did believe that the whole telepathy thing was mostly logic and good guesses... but that didn't explain all the things that I felt… or the electrical phenomena that was once again beginning to plague me—I felt like a fresh sock just out of the laundry; my hair was sticking all up and my skin was tingling. _

_And if this drug—Starkoss called it the 'Petroski Serum'—if this _serum_ worked on me, then it probably worked on other people, too. Brooks had experimented with the serum, therefore it was likely that Sonne had, also… and there was no guessing what tricks he'll be having up his sleeves. I had to be ready to face the unknown…and I wouldn't be lying to you when I say that I'd rather rely on myself and my over-used luck than some artificially induced electrical and chemical imbalance!_

_If Sonne had more of a grasp on telepathy than Brooks, then going after Catherine and John Jr. would be foolish…I'll lead them right to them! But on the other hand, if he **can** pre-cogitate… or prognosticate… or whatever they call it… he ought to know already where they were hiding. _

_Damn! I hate this! Second guessing is bad enough when you're the only one with access to your brain!_

_I derived some small comfort from the fact that, if I didn't know what was going on in my mind… good luck to anyone trying to read it; they'll be as confused as I am!_

⌂

They had worked out a plan to uncover whoever at the Phoenix Foundation was leaking classified information; catching Clare Brooks so quickly had been a bonus. MacGyver hoped that Pete would find out something during her debriefing, but he felt that he couldn't wait for that information… he had to locate Catherine Kelly and make sure that she and her son were still safe.

_And in order to do that, I'm going to have to rely on those artificially induced electrical and chemical imbalances," _Mac thought sourly_. "Great. Just great!"_

Starkoss had been helpful; using his own talents, he had shown Mac the general area where he believed the poor woman and her son were in hiding. He couldn't be too specific, but once Mac got close, he too began to feel that odd pulling sensation… that hot-cold-hot, slippery vs. sandpapery feeling. Mac found this kind of navigation nerve-wracking and time-consuming, but it… _felt…_ right; there was no other way to explain it. Mac just found himself hoping that he would make it on time.

A quiet suburban street led Mac away from more populated areas of the city, until his road ended in a cul-de-sac. There was only one house there, shrouded by the branches of oak and sycamore trees. It looked like any comfortable family home, but the sight of it made the hairs on the back of Mac's neck rise; he had found the place.

_I got a feeling that I've been here before._

Mac parked the car and got out. The sky was clear and the weather soft, but over this familiar little house there was an air of expectance, such as one might feel just before or during a bad storm. He walked slowly, every sense he possessed—and ones he had recently acquired—screaming that he was walking into a trap.

It didn't take extrasensory perception to know that something was amiss. The little house was a sad sight; the iron gate on the white picket fence was broken and hung by one hinge; a tire-swing lay under a stout tree limb, the rope tangled and frayed. Near the fence was a doghouse with a chain rooted near by a stout peg driven into the ground.

Mac stepped over the low fence and examined the doghouse. It was empty. Mac let out a low, beckoning whistle but there was no response. The chain had been unfastened and dropped; Mac could find no sign of breakage. He ran the links through his hands, wondering if this was a good sign… that somehow Catherine and John Jr. had escaped.

A feeling of pressure against the right side of his face! Leaning sharply to the left, Mac let himself roll forward into a somersault as a sizzling bolt of electricity suddenly charred through the air and struck the doghouse. It exploded with ridiculous force, raining fragments of wood and green shingles onto the lawn.

Mac came up on his feet, moving fast to put the broad trunk of the oak tree between him and the source of the attack. He pressed his back against the comforting wood and called out, "Eddie! I thought that I might find you here."

"Where's Clare?" Eddie demanded.

"She's… with friends," Mac answered, looking around for something to defend himself with. "She wasn't feeling too good, I'm afraid."

"What did you do to her?" Eddie shouted. Mac chanced a peek around the tree to see try to see him, but ducked back quick as another crackling arc of blue-white energy speared toward him. It struck the tree and sent some bits of bark flying.

"Me? I didn't do _anything_ to her. It's that serum that you guys have been developing… don't tell me you haven't noticed the side effects."

Eddie laughed. "I'll show you side effects, MacGyver!"

By the sound of his voice, Mac could tell the man was somewhere near the front of the house, but he didn't dare chance to take another look and get his head fried. Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated, just as Starkoss had taught him.

Mac found that he could 'see' Eddie—not with his eyes but inside his head. It was a weird landscape of geometric shapes and spatial curves, and there was a bright, man-shaped figure about fifteen yards away. That figure, which Mac knew to be Eddie, seemed to pulse with energy, slowly growing stronger.

Eddie's thoughts came to him clearly, as if he'd spoken them in Mac's ear; _'I see you, too, MacGyver.' _

_This is so weird!_ Mac thought, and he backed away from Eddie's mind, opening his eyes to the world. He shifted against the tree, bumping his head on something.

Rubbing the back of his head, Mac looked up and saw a crude ladder—mere sawn chunks of two-by-four lumber that had been nailed into place long ago by the hands of an adventurous child—leading up through branches. Mac reached up to grasp the wood, hoping to utilize the advantage of 'higher ground'. But the planks were soft and rotten; they cracked and crumbled in his hands. He dropped back to the earth, staggering a little as he caught his foot on the length of dog chain.

An idea struck him, and he began gathering the chain into his hands.

⌂

Eddie Sonne relished the sensation that coursed through his limbs as he focused his power. Ever since he and Clare had begun testing their serum, he felt that he had grown more powerful—and more potent—every day. To him, it more than made up for the moments of weakness and sickness; the migraines and occasional nosebleed seemed but minor, pesky side effects. He willingly suffered these to wield his new powers… and practice his skills.

So what if he had to increase his treatments from weekly doses to a daily regime? So what if his other functions deteriorated slightly? He had new functions—functions that would garner him the respect and authority which he had long deserved… which he felt he had been denied as a scientist and a mere citizen.

When he thought about how he had labored—_how he had struggled!—_to achieve what he had accomplished so far… so much less than if he had been given what he needed in funds and materials by those fools who grudgingly extended their meager grants, as if they only desired an association with the genius of Eddie Sonne but cared nothing for results. Eddie was glad that he was through with such idiots; he felt that he was above them now.

John Kelly had come through with the cash. Kelly had desires—needs—that could not be met without Eddie's research. He had approached Eddie and Clare with generous offers of money and the use of top-notch facilities. In exchange, he asked only for what he believed to be the right of every husband and father.

Eddie did not know who John Kelly was; he didn't know about his crimes or about why his wife had left him… and he didn't care. Kelly was giving him everything he wanted… not just money, but purpose… and that was important. That was perhaps the most valuable thing.

So when John Kelly had asked Eddie for a favor—to take MacGyver out of his way—it seemed a just and reasonable request.

⌂

Blood that was now trickling down his face did not bother him; he was full of his own power and did not heed such limitations as physical inconveniences. Lightning gathered in his body, buzzing and humming powerfully in his hands; Eddie circled around the bole of the tree, ready to strike down the man cowering there.

But there was no one there! Eddie stopped suddenly, shocked. He circled around the tree, a look of disbelief seared on his haggard face. MacGyver was gone… disappeared without a trace!


	10. Chapter 10 Unpredictable Conduct

**Slight of Mind, ch 10  
****Unpredictable Conduct**

Eddie circled the tree again, unable to believe his eyes. MacGyver had been here—he had **_seen_** him!—but now he had disappeared, leaving Eddie with a deep suspicion that MacGyver had somehow developed a power to teleport himself… or perhaps even to become invisible! Eddie stretched out his hands, waving it through the space where Mac should have been standing.

Eddie panicked for a moment then he paused to collect himself; to focus his powers and try to 'see' where MacGyver might have materialized. But Eddie was near the end of his strength now, after having expended so much already. Instead of the answer coming into his mind, he received only a terrible, terrible flare of pain. Eddie gasped and clutched at his head, moaning. Fresh blood stained his face and soaked into his shirt.

A sound of movement came from overhead; leaves rained down on Eddie's face as he looked up. He spotted MacGyver amid the leaves, barely visible. "There you are!" he panted, "Haven't you ever heard that you should avoid trees during a lightning storm?" he called out tauntingly. He ignored his pain and raised his arms, electricity sending Jacob's Ladders arching between his outstretched fingers, and he willed all his power toward MacGyver, intent to kill.

"Yeah… I've heard that," MacGyver called down at him, "I've also heard that you should avoid lakes, rivers, and standing water, and flag poles… and gazebos—learned **that** one the _hard way_—and raving lunatics who think they're invincible. Oh, and one other thing…"

Eddie noticed something was wrong when his feet began to grow hot. He looked around in confusion; the electricity he had raised, instead of blasting upward from his fingertips, was flowing down into the earth. He stepped back and staggered. He had been standing unknowingly on top of a coil of chain, just covered with fallen leaves, and the soles of his shoes were melting. Cursing, he kicked his feet to free himself.

"… you should avoid standing on metal during any electrical discharge."

Perched on a wide limb, Mac held the tire he had hauled up in both of his hands and waited. When Eddie was in just the right place below, he dropped it over his head; it slid down over his shoulders and pinned his arms to his sides. Eddie let out a yell of surprise and toppled over onto the grass.

Mac leaped down beside him and swiftly bound Eddie's hands and feet with the length of rope that had once been part of the tire swing—the same rope he had used to haul himself up the tree, praying that the rotting twine would not break. Mac then looped the chain around Eddie, handling it gingerly; it was still a little hot. He made sure that the iron stake that rooted the chain in place was secure. "There! I hate to say it, Eddie old son… but you are grounded!"

"You… can't… do… this!" Eddie grunted and groaned, but he could not free himself from either the ropes or the tire that bound his arms. He tried to gather his power and strike out, but the electricity that had once jumped to his command now flowed away from him, along the metal chain and into the earth, leaving him exhausted and gasping t through gritted teeth, "I… I am lightning! I am… above your… petty laws…"

"You may think you are above the laws of Men, Eddie," Mac said, "but nobody is above the laws of Nature. Now, you be a good boy and stay here and wait for the police. And stop trying to zap me!" Mac added, looking over the bloodied and weakening man. "The effort's killing you… I think you know that by now."

"You can't… can't leave me here!" Eddie cried desperately. "Let me go… it hurts! I need help…I can help you, too! There's a cure… an anti-serum… only I know!"

"No good, Ed. Clare let it slip that this was condition is temporary. I don't know how much longer it will take for it to wear off, but it shouldn't be too long… I hope. Anyway, if there is a cure or a way to reverse this, you'd better try it on yourself. You don't look so good, Eddie."

"You can't avoid using it! The power uses you… it demands to be used!"

Mac turned away, focusing his mind on the next task at hand.

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_I tried not to listen to Eddie, but I knew that the man was at least partially right; the strange abilities that had been awakened within me were not so easily muted. It took concentration to keep them at bay, and while it took less energy to suppress them than to use them, it was nevertheless tiring. I hoped I still had enough strength to face John Kelly… in my mind, he was perhaps the most dangerous of the three; I knew that he was a killer without conscious._

_Something made me turn and look at the house… one of those feelings that aren't really mine… the windows are dark blank eyes set within the homely white face. I really hoped that I wouldn't find Catherine and John Jr. inside—but I knew who _**was**_ in there waiting for me… and it brought a cold, hollow feeling to my belly—a feeling that was entirely my own and entirely natural._

_It was fear. _


	11. Chapter 11 Beyond Reason

**Slight of Mind, ch 11  
****Beyond Reason**

Mac walked toward the house and stepped up onto the porch. The front door was closed, but the frame was obviously damaged and there was a footprint on the panel of the wood where it had been kicked in. Mac stood to one side and pushed it open.

All inside was a wreck. Mac walked slowly through the debris of what had once been a neat, orderly house. Everything was overturned, broken, or smashed; it was as if a cyclone had moved through each room.

Mac walked through until he came into what once might have been a family room. He squatted down and sifted through a pile of wreckage, where he found a picture frame and a toy. The picture was of a father, mother, and son. The frame was heavy and valuable, but the glass was now smashed and picture shredded. The toy was a small red fire engine that had a tiny ladder which extended but was now badly bent. Mac picked up the engine and tried to bend the ladder back into shape.

"Don't touch that." A shadow emerged from one corner; a man wearing a scowl as black as thunderclouds; John Kelly, a man MacGyver had never personally met, but recognized by Pete's description. He stood among the destruction he had wrought, fists clenched down at his sides. There was a small, ugly gun in one of his hands.

Mac remained where he was, still holding the little truck in his hands. "Looks like they left in a hurry… someone forgot his favorite toy."

"You… you thought… you believed that they were here. They read it in your mind."

Kelly's voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming.

Mac heard the dangerous anger and hysterical desperation in the man's voice; more than this, he knew just by being so near to him that Kelly had nearly lost grasp of his own reason and humanity. He knew that if he moved—or said—the wrong thing, the man would very likely let his anger loose on Mac.

Mac kept his voice in an easy, matter-of-fact tone, "I used to have a truck like this. The rolling ladder really works—though this one is a little dinged up…"

A wave of disorientation swept through Mac's mind as he held the toy in his hands. Mac nearly dropped the thing as he wobbled on his haunches; he had to throw one hand out to steady himself. His head began to hurt in earnest, but the pain was overridden by the images that were flashing before his mind's eye; he saw small hands pushing the fire engine through fresh-cut grass; he could smell the sharp odor of lawn-clippings and exhaust from the mower and taste it in the air; his knees were damp from kneeling on the ground. A thought crossed his mind that Mom would harass him about the stains on the fabric, though he knew that she wouldn't really be angry… she never got angry, not the way Dad sometimes got—

"Don't touch that!" Kelly insisted. The fist gripping the gun came up a few inches in MacGyver's direction.

Mac blinked and forced his attention back to his own reality. His blood was pounding through his body, belly clenched against nausea; Mac carefully set the toy on the floor. _It had felt so real, _Mac thought,_ as if I really were a child playing in the grass…more real than any sensation I've had before! He must be close by!_

"They said that you thought they were here," Kelly repeated. "Where are they?"

"Clare's in police custody and Eddie's taking a nap on the lawn," Mac offered, knowing that he was answering the wrong question. He knew he had to keep Kelly's attention on himself until help arrived.

"Not _them!_" Kelly snarled, "Cath and JJ… where are **_they?_**"

"I thought that **_they_** were _here_," Mac said, spreading his arms to indicate the house. The gun came up and centered on him. "Sorry… I was just gesticulating… don't shoot."

"You know where they are! Tell me!"

"Hey… I thought they were here... and that's the truth! Think about it, Kelly … why else would I be here?"

"The Feds are after me… and you work for them! You won't bring me in!"

"That's not my job," Mac said calmly.

"Don't lie to me! They can read people's minds… do things… I've seen the things that they predict happen; they're psychic!"

"Maybe. Or… maybe Clare and Eddie aren't as psychic as they thought they were." Mac gestured around at the ruin of the house. "Are you sure you got the right place?"

"This is the place," Kelly said, his voice shaking. The gun dropped a few inches, and John Kelly took a couple of steps forward; his eyes appeared raw and red. There was a deep gash across the back of the hand he was holding his gun with; he seemed unaware of the drops of blood leaking from the wound, dripping down the barrel to rain onto the debris strewn across the floor. "Tell me where they are, MacGyver. Tell me where I can find my son."

"I can't do that," Mac said. "I don't know."

"You know… you can see them! You've got the power… you can find them!" The gun came up, the black eye of the barrel red-rimmed as Kelly's own.

Mac stepped back, hands held out in a placating gesture. "Kelly… think about what you're doing. You don't really want to hurt them… your _own_ family?"

"Family…" Kelly echoed. "…I'm **doing **this for the family."

"_The_ Family, you mean," said Mac. "Does the Mob really have more of your loyalty than your own wife and child?"

"Family," Kelly echoed numbly. Mac realized that the man was disoriented… as if intoxicated, or under the influence of some drug. "I'm doing this…" Kelly began to repeat, but then he stopped and stared at Mac. "What makes you think I **want **to _hurt_ them?"

Mac looked around at the destruction and then back at the man with the gun, thinking, _Okay… reason is not going to work with this guy—he's nuts!,_ and swallowed his first obvious remark. Instead he said, "You know… I got a fire engine like that for Christmas when I was eight years old. I used to play with this all the time… I even slept with it. It had a siren and a flashing light that really worked…"

"Quit stalling." Kelly thumbed back the hammer on the gun; an ugly sound. "The only way you could know what I intend to do is because you've read my mind… and if you can do that, you can find JJ…"

Mac knew that Kelly wasn't bluffing; the man was trying to decide the best place to shoot Mac so that he could still talk for a while before he died, bleeding to death among the debris…

Mac blinked, forcing the vivid premonition out of his thoughts. "I _really_ don't know where they are, Kelly. They are beyond my reach… and yours."

Kelly laughed, mania edging into the raucous sound. "You know that, do you? You can read my mind and tell? Well… you're only half right! I would never hurt JJ… but she betrayed me… she abandoned me!"

"No, you betrayed _her_," Mac said firmly. "It was your crimes which drove her away from you. She was only trying to protect her son.… you can't blame her for trying to do that."

Kelly's jaw clenched and his eyes went flat and black. "She stole my son from me!" Kelly thrust the gun forward like a punch, firing wildly in MacGyver's direction.

Mac threw himself sharply to his left; he felt something tear into his side with fiery teeth. He hit the floor and kept rolling. He scrambled into the next room, scattering debris, putting the dubious protection of one thin lathe wall between him and Kelly. The folded edge of a large hook-rug tripped him as he tried to get to his feet. Mac kicked it away and pressed himself against the wall, panting, and looked around for a likely escape route. He needed a distraction badly!

At that moment, an odd noise made both men stop and listen. A tinny but distinct noise began to fill the house. The toy fire truck, struck by Mac's foot perhaps as he had rolled across the floor, lay on its battered side emitting the thin siren wail, with little red, blue, and white lights the size of thimbles rotating and flashing.

The sound startled Kelly and he brought the gun around toward the source of the noise. He laughed gratingly when he realized where it was coming from. "I always hated that damn truck! I thought I'd managed to break the stupid noisemaker…"

Mac picked himself up, one hand covering his side just under his right arm where Kelly's bullet had grazed him. The room he found himself in had a wide picture window overlooking the back yard, bordered by a row of invitingly concealing trees—providing Mac could get that far without getting shot again.

He glanced down at himself to assess the damage done. That was when he noticed the door in the floor. It would have been concealed by the rug, except that one corner had been turned back; this is what he had tripped over. If they went down into the basement to hide, there was no way that they could have re-covered the door after they had descended through the hatch. Mac guessed that in his fury and madness, John Kelly must have overlooked it.

Mac was torn between his urge to fly—to leap through the window and run from the gun-toting maniac in the next room—and the knowledge that he couldn't risk letting Kelly discover the trapdoor, beneath which he was now_ sure_ that Catherine Kelly and her son were hiding, cowering in fear of the dreadful sounds occurring above their heads.

Slowly, Mac sank back down to the floor, stretching his leg out and carefully flipping the rug back over the door with the toe of his sneaker. His movement was rewarded by the appearance of two large bullet holes, inches from his head; the bullets going right through the wall. Mac closed his eyes and turned his face away from the sting of fragments of plaster and wood.

Mac thought that booming noise of the gun had messed up his ears, and then he realized that the sound of sirens was getting louder—and coming from outside!

Kelly heard the sirens, too; the piercing noises cut through his red fury. Through the doorway of the room where MacGyver went, Kelly could see daylight, the large window with an expanse of lawn and shelterbelt of trees beyond. He fired a couple more blind shots to keep MacGyver's head down, and then he ran for the windows, intent on escape.

Mac did indeed have his head down, but when Kelly went running past, he leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the rug, giving it a hard pull.

Kelly's feet went out from under him as the rug slipped. He threw out his arm to catch himself, the gun flying from his hand. But his momentum was too great; it carried him forward. With a terrific crash, he smashed through the window.

The pane of glass shattered with a thunderous sound. John Kelly had one arm across his face to protect his eyes from flying shards as he went through… but that did not save him from the guillotine-like slabs of glass that fell upon him… with horrible and fatal effect!

MacGyver turned his face away from the sight with a grimace; no amount of first aid could help the man. He backed away and waited for the policemen; they came pouring into the house like a blue tide; he let it flow around him. He was too weary to do more than lean against the wall and breathe. One police officer approached MacGyver cautiously, one hand on the grip of his sidearm.

"Are you the Phoenix Foundation agent?"

Mac nodded wearily, fishing out his ID card. "Yeah… I'm MacGyver. I assume you got a phone call from Peter Thornton?"

"Uh-huh. My name's Lt. Duke Dodge." The man hesitated, looking Mac over and seeing the bloodstain beneath his hand. "Looks like we got here a little late."

"No," Mac disagreed amiably, "I'd say you were just in time!"

"Ah well, you just stay a'right there and take it easy 'til we can get a'hold of the situation. Oh, by the by… we found a guy out in the yard wearing a whitewall straightjacket… is that the other guy we were supposed to be looking for?"

"Yeah. That's Eddie Sonne. I wouldn't let any of your men near him for a while… "

"Yeah, he's still spitting sparks… most damned'able thing I've ever saw… I don't think he's very happy. Neither is this guy…" Dodge leaned forward and inspected the grisly scene. He gave a low whistle. "Well… that's one way to avoid an indictment…"

⌂

The trapdoor was lifted and the room below investigated. Mac was surprised to learn that it was empty.

"Are you sure?" Mac asked, as he allowed a paramedic to press a bandage over his shallow wound. He had refused to let her tear or cut away his shirt; instead, he had taken it off and was holding one arm up so she could work on him.

"It's just a small basement storage room," Dodge pushed his hat back a few inches to scratch his wide forehead, then resettled his hat. "There is only way in or out—through this hatch."

Mac let his head fall back and closed his eyes. "I was so sure that they were down there…" He suddenly chuckled, realizing that the ESP drug must be wearing off finally_. I hope that means that the headache will go away too,_ Mac thought wistfully, and then he winced as the paramedic daubed him with antiseptic. "Ouch!"

"Relax, Mr. MacGyver," the woman said as she continued her ministrations, "the bullet just grazed the skin. It's just …"

"Just a flesh wound?" Mac finished the sentence for her. "Finally… I can use my favorite line from all my favorite western films!" The woman rolled her eyes at him, but she was wearing a small smile now as she worked.

Bemused, Lt. Dodge waited until they had finished bantering before he continued, "Well, there _are_ signs of recent occupancy. I'm guessing by the look of things that they _were_ here… they couldn't have left more that an hour or two ago."

"Lieutenant!" another officer came hurrying across the lawn and called through the broken window. "Lt. Dodge, sir? I found them!"

Mac jumped up, forgetting his injury. The paramedic managed to smooth the tape holding the bandage in place just as he slipped out of her hands.


	12. Chapter 12 Persistent Ghosts

**Slight of Mind, ch 12  
****Persistent Ghosts **

MacGyver ran across the grass, leaving a police sergeant puffing along behind him. Everything he needed to know about where to go had been on the surface of the man's thoughts; MacGyver had heard them without trying. He headed unerringly toward the trees, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the leafy bushes that bounded the lawn, he leaped over them like a hurdler.

Now he was forced to slow his headlong charge; the trees were thick and closely spaced. The shelter of overlapping limbs allowed a small amount of sunlight to filter through. Groundcover was a sparse, little more than a few discarded branches lying upon a rusty bed of dried needles. Here and there, some exotic-looking mushrooms pushing up their pale faces up into the meager light.

Mac hurried on, the officer still on his heels as they zigzagged through the trees. Soon he could see another policeman standing near the trunk of a large pine, waiting to assist a woman who was climbing down. She was going slowly because she was carrying something. Mac thought it was a child that she was holding, but then he realized that it was in fact a dog. She reached the ground safely, the animal squirming slightly in her arms. She bent and set the animal down, and when she turned her head to thank the policeman for helping her, Mac caught sight of her face.

It struck Mac like a whirlwind—memories that were not his own blew through, buffeting his senses and burying his own feeling and thoughts. It was as if he had known her all his life. Not because of the endless profiles and paperwork that Mac had read about her, but because of the actual memories—borrowed memories—that were surfacing in Mac's mind, popping up like corks in a pond.

He knew the scent of her hair, the touch of her hand, the shape of her face. The way her eyes changed color after she woke up in the morning. He knew that she loved raspberry truffles. Her name was Catherine, but he didn't call her that… she was 'Cath' to him, willful and sensual and graceful. He even knew how much sugar she liked in her coffee in the mornings.

He also knew another feeling for this woman, a feeling that nearly overwhelmed everything else, the heart of a volcano welling up just before it boils over the edge of the crater and burns like hell itself. It was anger—anger and hatred and an urge to destroy—more powerful than anything that MacGyver had ever felt before.

MacGyver grabbing the nearest tree, skidding to a stop. The police officer ran past to lend his help in getting John Jr. out of the tree, but Mac remained where he was. He didn't trust himself to face Catherine Kelly.

He was afraid that he would kill her.

⌂

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_My grandfather told me once that anger can do more damage to a man than the fists of his enemies. It took me a lot of time and growing-up before I understood his words. In fact, I didn't understand it until I began to learn the guitar._

_Harry left us when I was about ten. He was just gone one day, no explanation. I know now that at that time he was struggling with his own grief over the loss of Grandma, but back then I was just a kid. I had lost my father in the same accident, and Harry and Mom were all I had left. When he disappeared, it hurt. I was very angry at him for leaving us. _

_I was taking guitar lessons at the time—which I didn't like, but I went anyway because Mom wanted me to. I could never really refuse to obey her. I'm glad she kept me at it, because it turned out that through music, I could channel my anger and change my frustration into melody. Maybe that's why now, when I'm upset or frustrated, I play guitar to sooth my mind._

_Music taught me to understand that it's the nature of man to conflict with his environment. The things that we touch, we change—some times for the better and sometimes for the worse. Just like tuning a guitar; each chord is different from the others, but if you play them together correctly, you get a pleasing result. There is no harmony without some conflict._

_So, while I was playing guitar, I remembered what Harry had taught me. I learned to deal with my emotions in ways that are constructive rather than destructive. I learned to change my anger into music._

_But what I was feeling now—this violent wave of rage, more powerful and chaotic than any feeling I can remember—no music could possibly cleanse. _

Mac knew that there was something **very** wrong with him. He realized that the ESP drug must not have completely worn off, and he was experiencing thoughts and strong feelings aren't his—they belonged to John Kelly—husband and father and now a dead man, his blood not yet dry on the ground.

_Why am I feeling… HOW can I be feeling what he knows… if he is dead?_

The trees seemed to be closing over MacGyver's head like the edges of a grave, crumbling soil falling in as he tried to climb out. He felt as if he were suffocating!

Gulping for breath, Mac turned away and walked back the way he had come. He knew he couldn't face them—couldn't speak with Catherine Kelly or her son—until he could be sure that he was in control of his own mind.

⌂

_This is what it feels like to go crazy, _Mac thought, as he wiped sweat from his face. He had paused outside of the house, reluctant to enter and see the grisly scene of John Kelly's death again while he was wrestling with mixed emotions._ Why do I feel so… angry? Angry—and **in love**—with her. This is **not** me!_

'_No,'_ a voice answered Mac's thought, _'It is not you… it is I.'_

_Who… Kelly? John Kelly?_

'_Who did you expect… Houdini?'_ A shiver of otherworldly laughter echoed in Mac's skull.

"John Kelly is dead." Mac said this aloud, more for the benefit of his own ears than for the hearing of others.

'_Yeah… I noticed that.'_ The voice was parched with sarcasm, _'You murdered **me**… and the police just pat **you** on the back! There is no justice in life… or in the afterlife, apparently.'_

"What are you doing inside my head?" Mac asked aloud. A policewoman who was passing by at that moment turned and stared at him. He covered his face with his hands, and muttered, "What do you want?"

'_Well, I don't seem to be able to make you do what I want. Very disappointing. I really thought you were going to do it, there for a moment. I know you're capable.'_

"I don't kill people, Kelly. I don't understand why you'd want to."

'_Oh, just because I can… usually. Don't try to understand it, man. You just don't have that kind of crazy in you. Or that is, you didn't…,'_ Kelly amended with another eerie chuckle, _'…until I washed up inside your head.'_

Mac searched his memory for something that Starkoss might have told him that could help. Nothing worked to drive Kelly from his mind. "Look, I'm not going to hurt your wife for you, so why don't you just go away?"

'_And let my murderer go unpunished?'_

"I didn't murder you… it was an accident!"

'_Well, I'm no less dead for good intentions. And if I can't kill the one I want to kill, I'll just have to take it out on someone else.'_

Kelly's anger flared through Mac's mind, causing the pain of his headache to increase terribly. Mac gasped, bending over and holding his head as Kelly's laughter rang out again. _'At least I know that there's still some damage I can do!'_

The pain was so great that Mac blindly stumbled against the side of the house. He slid down to sit on the ground. The pressure inside his head was still increasing, as if Kelly were stabbing him in the brain, twisting the knife. _Stop it… stop! Please!_

Savage pleasure at Mac's agony filled Kelly's thought, but even as suddenly as it happened, Mac's pain began to fade away. Kelly's voice grew dimmer and more desperate as he realized that his time in this world was up.

A dark corridor appeared to the disembodied man, and there was light glimmering down the tunnel… but it was far, far away. John Kelly felt himself being pulled irresistibly forward, away from MacGyver and the world he had lived in. His desire for vengeance dissolved into fear.

MacGyver heard Kelly utter one last cry of '**_NOooo…'_** dwindling to nothing in the landscape of his mind, and then all became quiet. The long dark corridor—so similar to that one he had followed Harry down once—stretched out before him, but he felt no desire to take that walk again… not now.

Eventually, the light dimmed and faded. Mac's pain and confusion seemed to fade with it, leaving him alone in the blessed darkness.

Mac opened his eyes and let his head fall back, sighing with relief. He started when something cold and wet touched his hand. He looked down and saw the family dog, sitting calmly beside him. Little more than a puppy, it began to lick Mac's hand.

MacGyver reached over and scratched the dog's ears gently. The dog curled up trustingly beside him. It laid its head in Mac's lap in an overt plea for more caresses.

Mac obliged, murmuring, "That feels good, huh, boy? Let's just sit here for a while… what do you say?"

The dog thumped the ground with its tail in vigorous agreement.

**Epilogue**

Pete Thornton was on the phone when MacGyver entered his office. He waved Mac in and pointed at a chair. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand, he whispered, "I'm on hold… just a minute, Mac."

"No problem!" Mac sat down and settled comfortably into the chair. Pete looked him over out of the corner of his eye and noted with pleasure that his friend appeared to be back to his usual good health; MacGyver had a fresh tan, he moved with energy and seemed relaxed. His face had finally lost the lean haunted look that he had acquired during that terrible week after the accident at Western Research and Development.

"You're looking more yourself," Pete commented after he hung up the phone. "That was Doc Beatty," he added.

"And…?" Mac drawled, leaning forward as if waiting for the punch-line.

"…And… she says you're doing fine. Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For going in for a check-up as soon as you got back from your vacation. Those two weeks in the woods seem to have done wonders." Pete hesitated for a moment, then he said, "So…?" with the same drawl that Mac had used earlier.

Mac grinned. "So… what?"

"So is everything back to normal? You know…" he gestured vaguely toward his head, and then pointed at Mac, "… normal."

Mac stretched his arms over his head and sighed. "I think so."

"No more headaches?" Pete pressed Mac with questions, "No more precognition? No more _déjà-_views?"

Mac shook his head after each, a smile beginning to play around the corners of him mouth.

Pete picked up a large envelope that was lying on his desk, showing it to Mac but holding it out of his reach. "You don't know what is in this envelope?"

"I have no idea."

"Good! Because now… it is my turn to do parlor tricks!" Pete reached under his desk and pulled out a paper bag, which he set on his desk with a theatrical flair. "Let's see if Swami Pete can use his mystical talents to tell you what is inside this envelope!" Pete opened the bag and took out a large purple turban that was covered with beads and feathers. He set the thing on his balding head and struck an exaggerated expression of inscrutability.

Mac laughed out loud. It was the most outrageous thing he had ever seen. "Pete, you look ridiculous!"

"Hush! Voice not your heretical heckling!" Pete picked up the envelope and pressed it against his forehead. "Yes… I'm getting something… wait! No… yes… it's something…"

"Come on," Mac shook his head slightly, "… gimme a break."

"No… it's coming now… yes… I've got it! It's your bonus!" He flourished the envelope and handed it to Mac. "One season pass for this year's National Hockey League… courtesy of the Phoenix Board of Directors!"

Mac eagerly snatched the envelope out of Pete's hand. "All _right!_ Pete!" Mac opened the envelope and studied the contents.

"You earned it," Pete smiled as he watched his friend's delight. "And you should be close enough to the ice that during every game you'll probably be in danger of getting frostbite!"

MacGyver laughed and kissed the envelope before he stuck it securely in an inner pocket of his jacket. "This is really great… thanks, Pete!"

"Well, the Board is very pleased. Not only did we close down John Kelly's mob interests and get a whole lot of bad men off of the streets, but we also managed to prevent anyone else from suffering because of that ESP research. You did a good job, Mac."

"Well… I didn't really have much choice, did I?" MacGyver shrugged. His smile faded a little as he forced himself to ask a question that had been much on his mind during his entire sabbatical. "So, how are Mrs. Kelly and John Jr. doing?"

"They're fine, Mac. Mrs. Kelly wanted to thank you personally for saving their lives."

"Pete…" Mac began to protest softly, shifted uneasily in his chair.

Pete held up a placating hand. "Don't worry. I said to her what you asked me to say… that you were called away on an emergency assignment. She and her son have already been relocated, so you don't have to be concerned about her trying contact you."

Mac sighed, relaxing again. A buzzer sounded, and Pete picked up the phone to take a call. MacGyver patted the pocket where he'd put his bonus, letting the thoughts turn over in his head.

**Mac's Voice-over:  
**_I can't explain why I was still afraid to face Catherine Kelly and her son. The serum had long worn off and I was no longer experiencing headaches or hearing people thoughts—living or dead. But deep inside my head, I could still remember feelings that weren't mine. They were fading slowly, just like a normal memory does, softening and stretching thin as time passed… not as intense as they once were, but they were still there. _

_A part of me was still in love with a woman I'd never spoken to. I hoped that her new life would be a good one. _

_For now, I was content to be myself once again—with only my own thoughts and confusion to badger my mind._

Pete hung up the phone and looked at MacGyver. "So… are you ready to jump in again?"

"Sure," Mac responded. "Wherever in the world that you're planning to send me… just be sure I'm back before the Hockey season begins. I don't want to miss a **single** game!"

Pete frowned. "How did you know I was going to ask you to travel out of the country…?" he asked uncertainly, "You didn't… read my mind… did you?"

Mac laughed. "No Pete… I read the file you've got lying open on your desk! Relax! I'm not psychic… I'm just damn nosy!"

fin!


End file.
